


A Waste Of Pie

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Sex, Castiel Indulges Dean Winchester, Food Kink, Grumpy Dean Winchester, Kinky Dean Winchester, Licking, M/M, Ticklish Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18760909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Dean has an idea involving Cas, and pie, and Cas kind of just goes along because he can see Dean really wants to try this.Neither of them really thought it through, and it doesn’t help when Cas realises he’s ticklish.





	A Waste Of Pie

It…. To be frank, it’s not the most ridiculous thing Cas has ever heard during the years he’s spent with the Winchesters, and he’s not ignorant of the ...various sexual proclivities enjoyed by humans in general and Dean in particular.

Not to say that he’s an expert in any form, though since he entered a relationship with Dean his range of experience has certainly expanded.

This, though…

“Is this because you and Sam can’t agree on whose turn it is to do the dishes?”

Dean’s eye twitches, and he gets that look about him that probably strikes fear into the hearts of whatever creature has drawn the hunter’s focus.

It just makes Cas want to reach out and hug him, but he refrains because apparently that does negative things to Dean’s confidence in his hunting prowess.

“No,” he says, the word drawn out like he’s counting to ten in his head to try and keep a hold of both his temper and his patience. “It’s not because… Oh, ha, fucking, ha. You’re hilarious.”

Cas sighs, but he can’t keep the grin from his face. “I’m sorry,” he says, and means it. He doesn’t like to tease Dean, though Dean is certainly fond of teasing him, but sometimes it just has to be done. “But this...interests you?”

Dean shrugs, and Cas can see him building up to his it’s-fine-no-big-deal-I-wasn’t-that-bothered-anyway facade.

Before he can get there, Cas presses him lightly against the wall, and steals the words, and the hurt, away with a kiss.

“Does it?”

Dean’s eyes are fixed on him, his lips slightly parted, a little swollen. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Cas glances at the take out bag on the table, and once again realises there is little he won’t do for this man.

“I’ll be in our room.”

++

Much as Cas knows how excited Dean is over this, he can’t help but feel that his hunter hasn’t quite thought it through.

He lies there, naked, patient, _curious_ , and watches as Dean fumbles with the plastic container holding what, he’s sure from the scent, is a warm rhubarb pie.

It’s a little surreal to see someone who can make bullets, and repair cars, and keep their old boiler functioning when it’s on the cusp of breaking down forever, struggle with such a simple thing, but Cas holds back from offering to help.

That probably wouldn’t go down well, and then Dean manages to tug the plastic lid off, and the pie almost tumbles out onto the sheets with the force of it.

“Shit,” he says. Then he seems to see where Cas’s concerns about the practicalities of this are coming from. “Shit.”

He stares down at the pie in consternation, shrugs, and then breaks off the crust. With a little effort, and some gooey fingers (which, Cas supposes would end up gooey anyway, along with him, and probably the sheets) he removes the pastry and ends up with a pie shell and the tangy smelling contents.

Cas tries to make sure his expression reads more the sexual kind of interested, than the _how in the all the earth are you going to make this work_ kind when Dean scoops up a finger’s worth of rhubarb gloop and wags it at him in what he guesses Dean thinks is some kind of enticement.

“Think it needs a little something,” he says. “Maybe a pinch of angel.” 

He actually wiggles his eyebrows, and chuckles, and Cas bites back on a sigh.

++

The problem isn’t so much having sticky, messy pie filling smeared over him. It’s only vaguely uncomfortable; not warm enough to burn even if he was human, though he can feel it sticking to his skin.

It’s.. The problem is Dean.

Specifically, his tongue.

No doubt Dean is finding this erotic, from the sounds he’s making, and Cas is no stranger to what turns Dean on, or to Dean exploring his body.

It’s just he usually does it with his hands, that skilful touch that has given Cas many hours of pleasure in this bedroom (and other, according to Sam, less appropriate places). 

But right now he’s using his tongue, and Cas has never been licked before.

That one time with the angel-eating goblin doesn’t count.

And Dean’s tongue….

It’s wicked.

That’s the only word for it. Cas can safely squeeze his eyes shut and focus on reinforcing his crumbling self control without worrying about Dean noticing, because Dean’s otherwise engaged, and his head is down.

He’s currently using his tongue to dig out the pie filing he scooped into Cas’s belly button, and the angel isn’t sure if it’s that part of his body, or the odd sensation of having someone prodding around in there, or if it’s just Dean’s tongue, but he can feel laughter bubbling its way up and out of him.

He huffs, and jerks involuntarily as Dean pushes a little deeper, causing Dean to pause.

“Hey,” he says. He reaches up and strokes Cas’s shoulder, drawing the angel to look at him. “You okay?”

Oh, that was a mistake. There’s a smear of rhubarb right on the tip of Dean’s nose, and Cas has no idea what or why or anything except it might be the cutest and most hilarious thing he’s ever seen.

“Fine,” he squeaks, and then clears his throat and manages to sound a little more like his usual self. “Fine. Please, continue.”

It takes more will power that he was sure he possessed to say that.

Dean looks a little suspicious, but then abandons Cas’s belly in favour of his nipples, both currently buried beneath small peaks of congealing liquidised rhubarb. 

Cas hasn’t prayed in years but he does it then, seeking whatever bolster to his resolve that he can find because his entire body is squirming from Dean’s touch, from his frankly impressive dedication to lick Cas clean of the mess he’s made of him.

He clenches his fists so tightly that he’s sure he’ll have to heal himself when he’s done.

When the first giggle breaks free, Dean immediately stops, and once again is staring at Cas like the angel’s been sneaking around the bunker in the general proximity of Dean’s birthday.

“Cas?”

“Fine, fine, it’s fine, please, please don’t stop.”

It takes Dean a little longer to resume his tongue’s industrious efforts, but then he licks and kisses and sucks his way over Cas’s collar bone, diligently removing any traces of rhubarb he might find, and then…

Cas cringes as Dean starts to nuzzle his neck, and right between his ear and his jawline.

Being ticklish isn’t something Cas has intentionally kept from the Winchesters. He had a brief suspicion it might be an affliction he’d suffer from, but unless certain people _knew_ you were ticklish, it wasn’t likely to become a problem.

But his suspicious are realised, and he can’t hold it back any longer, and giggles become full, side splitting, breathless waves of laughter.

He is genuinely crying by the time it’s done, and when he’s able to breathe normally again, it’s to find Dean kneeling back on his heels, arms folded, and glaring at him.

Still with that stubborn swipe of rhubarb across his nose and that sets him off again, and before Cas can say anything the hunter is clambering off the bed.

++

Sam isn’t home, which is just as well given Dean storms out of their room in just his hastily tugged on boxers.

Cas hesitates on the threshold of the room, anyway, just in case Sam has returned unexpectedly. He might be used to, if unhappy about, being exposed to Dean’s partial nudity given how long they’ve shared close quarters, but Cas has no intention of subjecting his friend to _his_ naked body rushing through the corridors after Dean.

However, his body is still covered in now dried on and flaking pieces of rhubarb pie filling, and the whole thing is unappealing.

Still, Dean is particular about these things and Cas knows if he dares put on Dean’s robe, and gets it stained, he’s likely never to hear the end of it.

The sheets, though, are already dirty, and by Dean’s own actions, so Cas figures that transgression will be forgiven, and grabs the sheet and wraps it, toga style, around himself before taking after his hunter.

The things he subjects himself to for this human.

He finds Dean in the library, having downed half a bottle of beer already, and scowling at the floor.

“Dean,” Cas says.

“No,” Dean says, “forget it. I get it, dumb idea, huh.”

Cas can read everything Dean _isn’t_ saying, and he’s torn between wanting to shake him and hug him.

He settles for getting in Dean’s space instead, taking the beer from his hand (more like having to pry it loose) and setting it down on the table.

“Nothing about you is dumb. Don’t ever let me hear you say that again.” _Whether you say it directly, or not_. 

Dean won’t look at him, so Cas carefully tilts the hunter’s chin until Dean’s eyes are fixed on his own.

“Now, I am a mess, Dean Winchester. And you made that mess. And we both know you have very strict house rules. So, I am going to the shower, and you are going to clean up the mess you made. Every. Last. Drop.”

He plants a delicate, almost teasing kiss along Dean’s jaw with each word, culminating in a not so teasing kiss when he reaches Dean’s mouth.

Then he steps away and, after making sure Sam _definitely_ isn’t home, dumps the sheet on the floor, turns around, and walks back to the shower.

He’s barely reached the hall when he hears Dean racing to catch up.

“So,” Dean says, and then fingers are ghosting their way up Cas’s bare spine, making him squirm. “You never said you were ticklish.”


End file.
